Page 38 of Coronation (Royally Forbidden #1)

Twenty-Three

Zelda

I ’ve never been inside a palace before.

Though the value of my family home might rival the king’s, there is no denying the divide between old money and new is vast. Very vast. At home, places like this don’t exist at all.

Or, if they do, they’re outfitted with newly purchased imitations of the priceless antiques that seem to occupy every corner of Ashwell Palace, the oil paintings too bright to be authentic, the ornate rugs too plush to have been walked over for generations.

The place seems endless, but Ben obviously knows where he’s going, leading the way down long corridors outfitted in glossy wood furnishings and gilded framed portraits of his ancestors on their horses or hunting dogs.

Neither of us says a word until we reach a set of double doors, quite similar to any of the others I’ve seen.

“Come inside,” Ben offers quietly, opening the door and stepping out of the way to allow me inside first.

The space beyond is very different from the other areas of the palace I’ve seen so far.

The stuffy antiques are gone, and in their place are a worn, comfortable leather couch, a television, and an eclectic array of art.

There isn’t a single ugly marble bust in sight, and the high, paned windows to our right look out on the very garden where the look took place.

Its many blooms are bathed in warm morning light, and beyond it, I can just make out the edge of the hedge maze.

It hits me that this is Ben’s private residence—his home—and I don’t understand why he would bring me here. Surely there are other places we could have spoken privately?

Unsettled, I curl my arms around my middle, turning in time to see the man in question closing the door behind us, a hand raking through his hair as he does. My heart performs a feeble flutter as he turns to look at me, and for a moment, neither of us speaks.

I’m carrying his child.

He couldn’t know that, of course. I’m barely a month along, and it will be a while before I can’t hide it.

Looking at him now, though, it’s impossible not to wonder which of this man’s features will be reflected in our baby.

Will they have the shape of his mouth or the color of his hair?

Will they have his long legs? His quiet intelligence? His dry humor?

Ben breaks the silence. “I suppose I should begin by apologizing. Again.” A pained expression crosses his handsome features. “For getting you into this mess. It wasn’t intentional.”

That, at least, I believe, and my throat is tight as I nod. “Thank you,” I say, my voice barely over a whisper. “I appreciate that.”

There are five yards between us, and Ben takes a step forward hesitantly, searching my face.

“However you’d like to handle this, whether it be going along with the plan or denying we have anything to do with one another, I’ll respect your wishes and do what I can to support them.

” He grimaces. “ Though I do believe we would be unwise to deny our involvement entirely. There are loose ends that would be complicated to tie up, the pub in Fernhill for a start.”

He isn’t wrong, but Ben has no idea that the biggest loose end of all is currently growing unchecked in my uterus.

I hadn’t thought of the pub, though, or any of this, really.

I’ve recently learned that a positive pregnancy test has a way of overshadowing any and all other worries one may have.

“Right.” I blow out a rocky breath, tightening my hold on myself.

It’s overwhelming to find this massive decision, one that may very well stay with me for the rest of my life—and Ben’s, for that matter—dumped squarely in my lap.

“I-I-” My voice falters, and Ben’s expression softens.

“Come sit down,” he urges me gently, moving to my side. His large, warm hand lifts to my shoulder, and I allow him to guide me over to the well-worn leather couch. When I sit down on one end, with Ben taking the other, my lungs are filled with his cinnamon and redwood scent.

This doesn’t help matters.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him with a hysterical little laugh, my bottom lip trembling. “It’s been a really long week.”

Ben shakes his head. “You have nothing to apologize for. If you’d rather leave it until another day, we can do that, too. I don’t want you to make a hasty decision you’ll later regret.”

The consideration in the offer surprises me, and for the first time since I saw it, I allow myself to really wonder at the meaning behind the look, which has now been seen around the world.

Everyone and their mother seems desperate for me to shed some light on it, but I’m as in the dark as they are. It seems like every interaction I have with this man brings to light another conflicting facet of his personality, and I’m no closer to knowing him now than I was when we met.

It’s terrifying to find yourself linked to someone in such a profound way, equal parts responsible for creating a whole human being, and not really know them.

Now, more than ever, I need to find out. I need to know that I won’t be sentencing my baby to life with a cold, disinterested father. I need to know if he cares about me, even a little.

A few weeks ago, I was telling him I needed to protect myself by staying away. Now, I’m walking right into the storm, with only this feeble PR stunt as a shield. It’s not enough. I have never felt so vulnerable, but running away isn’t an option. Not this time.

I know I still have options.

I know I don’t have to have this baby if I don’t want to.

I also know myself, and in my heart, there was never really a choice.

“Zelda?” Ben’s voice, quiet and unsure, tears me from my thoughts. He looks as flayed open as I feel, leaning forward as he stares at me, waiting for me to speak.

My heart is pounding. “Let’s do it.”

There’s a flicker of surprise in his expression, and I watch his throat bob in the seconds it takes him to respond. “You want to go along with their plan? For us to pretend to be together?”

“Yes.” That single word is about all I can manage right now, still reeling from the rush of emotions this decision provoked. Even a few days ago, I never would have agreed to this.

There are so many pitfalls, but the biggest one of all is the effect this man has had on me from day one.

I don’t trust my ability to figure out who he really is, when my track record thus far has been beyond dismal.

What will I do if it turns out this man really is the asshole I fear he is? What will I do then?

I’m more terrified than I’ve been of anything in my life, but the few alternatives I have are worse. We have to do this.

Lifting my chin, I stare back at the silent, grim-faced man before me, and when I speak, my voice betrays none of what I’m feeling.

“It’s good for my career, for my family, the movie…

We had a fling, and it’s over now. My ego isn’t so bruised that I can’t act in my own self-interest. This would be a beneficial arrangement for me. ”

He winces. “Very well. If that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

“It’s decided then.”

“Yes.”

We stare at each other, and the traitorous organ in my chest flutters at the intensity of his stare.

More than anything, I wish I could take my silly feelings out of the equation here, turn them off before they make this situation any worse than it already is.

Unfortunately, experience has taught me that feeling things very deeply, even when it’s inconvenient, is pretty unavoidable for me.

Ben clears his throat. “We’ll be spending a lot of time together.”

My hands twist in my lap. “I saw the proposal.”

The first week will be slow, with one fake date scheduled to gauge public reaction and adjust the strategy if needed.

Then, it’s game on. The weeks after will alternate between two dates and three, some in Wyngate, others in Dalmore.

Ben is right. It is a lot of time together, but nearly all of it will be in public.

I can do this.

I have to do this.

“What about you?” I demand suddenly, eager to turn the tables on this man for a change. “Are you okay with all this?” It seems unlikely that this intensely private man, who hardly ever lets his true emotions slip, would be excited to fake a relationship to win public approval.

Ben seems to take a moment to process this, jaw tightening behind his beard. “Yes. ”

The answer is what I’ve come to expect from this man: not enough.

Anxious to return to the safety of the conference room and the boring contract negotiations that are undoubtedly underway, I get to my feet. Ben follows my lead, rising from the sofa and leading the way back out into the sweeping corridor beyond.

Again, we set off without a word, keeping a careful distance between us.

As we pass one of the enormous paned windows, my gaze catches on the hedge maze in the distance.

My steps slow to a stop, momentarily stunned.

There’s a better view from here, good enough that I can see for the first time, the sheer breadth of the thing.

It’s enormous, taking up more of the grounds than the gardens themselves.

The day of the garden party, I’d wondered why I didn’t see other guests inside, and now it’s clear they had the good sense to steer clear. If I hadn’t run into Ben, I’d probably still be wandering down the paths within, trying to find my way out.

“It’s something of a beast to maintain,” Ben says, his tone mild, obviously following my gaze. “I understand the groundskeepers have a special team dedicated to its upkeep.”

“I bet.” My mouth is dry as I spot the topmost branches of the great oak. “Has it always been there?”

Heat spreads up my arm as Ben steps forward, his elbow brushing mine. “It was built sometime in the 1700s, I believe. It was given as a gift from the UK, where they were rather more popular.”

I press my lips together, resisting the temptation to ask further questions as I remember the glimpse I had of him sitting beneath the tree, his head in his hands. In truth, I’ve gone out of my way to avoid thinking about the sorrow I saw in him at that moment, or the raw openness of it.

Seeing the humanness beneath King Benedict’s icy exterior has never been difficult for me. He certainly hides it well and seems to do everything in his power to make sure no one gets close enough to catch on, but what I saw in the center of the maze was different.

It wasn’t something I was meant to witness. He didn’t give that to me; I took it. The theft was inadvertent, but even still. I can’t use anything he doesn’t offer me freely. Not for this.

As we begin moving again, subtly, I lay my hand over my stomach, sending a bit of silent hope to the tiny life within me.

I’m really crossing my fingers you’re tougher than I am, baby. It’s looking like we’re in for a bumpy ride.